Double0Nothing
by Miirkaelisaar
Summary: When a CIA agent goes missing deep in the Siberian tundra, it's up to Arthur Kirkland of MI6 to rescue the missing agent. But can he do it before it's too late, or will this be his last mission?  Please Leave Reviews.
1. Mission Failed

In the dark, one could barely make out a low sillhouette, darting from the deep snow bank to the dark outer wall of a sprawling concrete facility. A leftward glance, and another to the right, before a quick jerk of the arm sends a rope straight up into the air, grapple hooking over the other side of the wall and catching with a grinding sound onto the stone wall. A single tug to test the trustworthiness of the rope before the shadow scales the wall, rolling over the top and dropping over the other side seconds before a flourescent searchlight scans past.

Heart racing, the figure looks around again, dashing for the nearest inner wall. Another searchlight pans over, sending him somersaulting to avoid the circle of light, rolling into the bushes and waiting another second before jumping up and moving toward a vent in the wall. Smirking and whispering to himself about the lack of security, he pries the vent away and crawls in, petite enough to slither through the ducts like a snake with no worry of being stuck.

Slowing down at an approach of light, he peers through another vent, into a room full of machines and people, watching them for a moment before moving on. Some more machine rooms, a few offices. At one point the shaft suddenly drops into the darkness. He carefully hooks a zipline to the nearest vent cover and backs himself down the narrow tunnel, life hanging by a wire.

The maze continues and the last few vents he peers down from lead to sterile white rooms. He travels further, finding another vent and finally stopping. The room is dark, only a few LED lights glowing in the blackness from monitors and motion detectors. He pulls a small box from his utility belt and turns the dial on the side. A small ringing sound emminates from the box and the motion sensors on the wall blink before shorting out. Another short wait to make sure the alarms didn't go off.

The vent pried off and carefully set against the inside of the duct, he hooks another zipline to the tiny screwhole in the edge of the air shaft opening, taking a breath as he allows himself to tumble headfirst into the room, only the cord and the small reel at his belt keeping his body from falling to the cold floor nearly a hundred yards below. In the dark, he tries to remain coherent, imagining a normal sized room and not a hidden missile silo, as he rappels to the ground slowly, vaguely wondering if he even has enough line to make the drop, and quickly rejecting the thought.

A beep at his wrist indicates the floor is too close, and he slips night-vision goggles from around his neck up to his eyes, strapping them over his ears and taking another breath as he sees, upside-down, the giant missile in the center of the room, already completely fabricated, and probably ready for launch. The reality setting in, his mission becomes more important, and his eyes flit to the panel before him. He slowly begins to dismantle it, pushes aside wires, attempting to find the computer inside and the information he was sent to retrieve...

Suddenly everything went white, and he felt a searing pain in his head, shutting his eyes and screaming, hands flying to his face and tearing the goggles off, his mask coming with it and revealing golden curls damp with sweat. He slapped his palms over his eyes defensively as numerous heavy footfalls surround him. Blinded, he could only assume how many guns were aimed at his head. A genuinely light-hearted chuckle resonated through the room and there was shifting as a pair of heavy boots made their way toward him.

"I love the goggles." A playful voice sang out against the hanging man's quiet groaning. "How are your retinas~?" The voice chuckled again, a hand reaching up and pulling his hands away from his eyes. Though he struggled in protest, the sound of multiple firearms arming at once made him freeze. "Look at me." The voice demanded, suddenly cold.

The blonde spy reluctantly forced his eyes open, gasping at the pain the bright lights of the room brought his still-sensitive eyes. He shut his eyes too fast to see anything, shaking his head. The stranger seemed to find it incredibly amusing. "I used to see that in movies and wonder if it really work. I suppose it does." The hand came up again and slapped him, and he gasped again, resisting the urge to hit back. He knew his place, at this point he was expendible. His only job now was to not lose his cool.

"I said look at me. Everyone from your country is this rude? When someone speak to you, you look at them." Another slap. Aggravated, he finally opened his eyes, blinking rapidly as tears came instantly. His vision was still washed out and he prayed there was no lasting damage, though that was the least of his worries. He didn't need to see to know exactly who the voice belonged to, despite having never met him. The man chuckled again. He was starting to hate that sound.

"You have such pretty eyes. It is a shame." The man playfully commented at the violet irises staring angrily almost through him as they struggled to focus and blink away the burning. "Do not bother. It could be days before you see again, Comrade." He giggled and the blinded spy shuddered at the tone, trying to keep his wits about him.

"I have been expecting you... What is your name?"

He kept totally silent, not moving a muscle. Expecting... that meant he'd been set up. Someone had betrayed him, and the realization brought his heart plummeting.

"You do not have a name?"

His mouth stayed firmly shut, even as a single bead of sweat ran from his collar to his hair, fear begining to set in as the adrenaline of breaking into a terrorist's lair started to drain from his blood, leaving him cold.

"Who do you work for?" The man moved closer to the blinded one, narrowing his eyes at his silence. The spy looked extremely young and fragile, and he wondered what his purpose could possibly be. He would probably faint before torture could even be administered. He could already see the boy's nerves shaking now that his fate was becoming clearer to him. A common sign of a weakling, unable to handle what he already knew to be true. A sneer crossed his face and he suddenly grabbed a fistful of the golden hair, clutching it tight in his fist and enjoying the resulting whimpers of the helpless man. "I asked you a question."

His eyes were shut again, tears welling up as the man yanked his hair ruthlessly. He opened his mouth for a second, but quickly shut it, refusing to give in. He bit his lip, keeping his jaw clenched. He wouldn't break for any enemy. Another tug on his hair brought a pained whimper, but he remained determinedly silent, breathing through his nose in measured breaths.

Finally the man let go of the captured spy's hair, leaving him dangling. He turned to the nearest soldier, speaking briskly in another language. "Lezvie." There was a distinct sound of a blade sliding out of a sheath and the man turned back, reaching up with a long knife and tucking the blade under the spy's belt, cutting it away with one smooth movement, freeing him from his suspension.

There was a new flood of pain as he hit the ground head-fist, skull smacking against cold cement. He whimpered in agony as the larger man stepped over to him, grabbing another handful of his hair and dragging him to his knees. Overwhelmed, he cried out, his own hands clutching at the man's thick wrist, trying to hold himself up and stop the pain, though his head was swimming and his legs were completely limp. He was pretty certain he had a bad concussion, but it probably wouldn't matter for long. He felt a trickle of something warm run down his face; he was bleeding.

"You know, I do not like being ignored. And I do not like quiet people." The man chuckled, this time a cruel chuckle, not playful at all. "Are you always this quiet or have they simply trained you too well?" He grinned as the young man remained silent. "That is alright. I do a lot of training myself. I am very good at it. I am sure I can train you to talk once again." His grin widened at the obvious look of fear on the captive's face.

"Maybe your mouth is stuck? I know I can fix that." And with that, he punched the young man in the face, knocking him to the ground again and enjoying his resulting gasps of pain. "How's that, did it open now~?" He waited but the boy simply whimpered some more, so he shrugged and kicked him in the ribs, giggling madly. "Say something now."

"F-fuck you." The blonde finally moaned in a quiet voice, spitting blood at the man's feet, only earning him another giggle and a harder kick, this time to the gut, winding him.

"That is not very nice." The man sang in a taunting tone. "I know you know who I am. Tell me who you are." The spy only shook his head weakly.

"Then... you have sealed your fate." A tone of cruel pleasure crept into the words, and the young man found himself jerked up by his hair again, crying out. He was shoved harshly into rough hands that grabbed his arms and pulled them violently behind his back, not being careful at all as they restrained him and dragged him off, the other man quietly sauntering after him into the hall and speaking in a clear voice as he was taken away.

"You will talk eventually." He called after the doomed spy. Of course, if he died during torture it didn't matter. He would move the facility first thing in the morning, this would not happen again. At least this time he was lucky. He turned to a figure nearby him now that the soldiers had left. "Thank you for the information, Comrade. That could have turned out ugly for me without your tip..."

A low chuckle came in reply, the man standing a bit in the shadows as he watched the spy dragged off. "Hey. Better him than me." Teeth glinted in the semi-darkness as he grinned. "Now I have to get back and pretend I don't know shit." Another hissing chuckle, like a snake. "I'm sure we'll be in contact again soon."


	2. Search and Rescue

SMACK! A folder was slammed on the desk in front of Arthur Kirkland, who glanced at it before returning his full attention to the short, rigid older woman addressing him, her dark eyes narrowing in seriousness under her short, graying blonde hair.

"This is your next assignment, agent. Recently American intelligence discovered a group of Russian terrorists suspected to be building missile silos in Siberia. They sent someone in to investigate. Take pictures, find proof, search for codes, and if it seemed too late to stop, last resort was to sabotage the missiles. The agent in question..." M flipped the file open, tapping a slightly wrinkled finger on a photograph paper-clipped to the papers inside. "Matthew Williams, CIA. Supposedly one of their best. Apparantly not good enough. He reported in just before infiltrating the suspect property, but never reported back. They were able to trace him with a planted tracking device before it was discovered and assumed destroyed."

Arthur glanced down again at the file, studying the color xerox of a CIA identification card with Matthew Williams' picture on it. He looked like nothing more than a child, smiling a little half-smile, though his eyes seemed less vibrant than they should have been. He thought nothing of that- most people in this business were secretly haunted. He frowned and looked up again as M spoke up.

"Agent Williams was first assumed dead. However, due to this being a very recently discovered operation, the terrorists likely kept him for torture. They had no idea the Americans knew about this, and as far as we know, MI6 is the only agency the CIA is operating with, precicely for this reason. They may try to glean information from a captured agent before killing him. This is where you come in.

"The CIA has asked us to help retrieve Agent Williams, hopefully before he cracks and spills everything they know. The only agent they have capable of this happens to be the missing agent's brother, they won't send him for fear of him being to risky, out of emotion."

"So, then. It's a rescue mission." Arthur nodded, concluding for himself.

"Well, we don't believe the agent succeeded in procuring the needed information." M shook her head, lips tight. "Or that he managed to damage the suspected weapons of destruction."

"Well I'm sure if anyone can do it, I can." Arthur gingerly picked up the file, frowning at the boy's face again before flipping through some more papers. "But this all seems very vague..."

"Yes. Extremely. The CIA had almost no intelligence when they send Agent Williams in. In my opinion it was foolhardy and a suicide mission. But we stand by our promise of aid, we have to try. And at least I know you can do your homework better than they did." Arthur thought he caught the faintest of smiles on M's lips before her face returned to solemn rigidarity. "I have confidence in you, agent. Don't make me look like a fool, now."

And with that, and several hours of briefing and preparation later, Arthur found himself in a small plane, suited up for a jump, sneaking over the border of Siberia. He glanced out the small window to his right, the ground was obscurred by an icy haze of mist and snow, it chilled him to the bone despite his thermal clothing. He'd been on many missions like this, but unlike some of his colleagues, he had yet to become desensitized to it. Maybe it was something wrong with him.

When the time came, Arthur stared out of the door of the tiny aircraft, eyes wide despite the chilling air stinging them relentlessly. A man cinched all the cords on his parachute securely, giving him one last 'good luck' before shoving him out of the plane and into the misty darkness below...


	3. Whoops

The air was like fire rushing by, ice crystals stinging like insects as he plummetted to earth. The planes engines instantly replaced by the much louder rush of wind. For a few moments it was like being torn apart, every inch of his body under pressure, tumbling head-over-heels straight down toward the frozen ground. The urge to pull the cord was overwhelming, but he knew from training, and from experience, that if he didn't wait long enough the wind would simply carry him away.

It seemed like hours though it was mere moments, before the mist finally cleared enough to see the trees, several hundred feet below. Arthur yanked the cord as hard as he could, gasping as the parachute opened and he came to a viscious halt mid-air. The parachute jerked him up and backward at first, painfully digging the straps into him, before finally stopping and drifting to the ground. He sighed, going limp in his harness as he spiraled toward the trees, still at an uncomfortable speed. He threw his arms up at the last second as he crashed into the trees and tumbled like a rag doll down through the branches. He was jerked to another halt when the parachute got caught in the top of the trees.

"Agh!" Arthur cried out at the last jolting stop, swinging several feet above the ground and panting. After a few minutes of recovery, Arthur gathered his wits and glanced around. He appeared to be in a wooded area in the middle of a wintry wasteland. The air was still thick from cold and snow and wind, and he could barely see even a few yards ahead of himself. But when he squinted, he could make out a very faded path through the trees, thatched with some sort of straw. It was obviously a road made for large vehicles to traverse without risk of sliding on the icy ground. A temporary makeshift path over snow and dirt that could even be removed quickly if needed. If this wasn't a road to the hidden facility, he probably wouldn't find anything closer.

Reaching into his boot, Arthur pulled out a long hunting knife, carefully sawing all the right straps until suddenly nothing was holding him up. He instinctively tossed the knife away, his safety training almost reflex now, and landed hard on the frozen ground, giving a muffled cry. He stood and retrieved his knife, slipping it back into its place and glancing up to make sure his parachute wasn't visible from outside the line of trees. If it was he would have to take it down, lest he risk being anticipated.

The path wound through mostly open area except a few more patches of woods like the one he landed in. He followed it for about a mile before he halted, hearing the sound of an engine behind him. Quickly he ducked behind a snow bank, listening as a large truck rumbled by. Timing himself perfectly, he leapt out from the hiding place just as the truck was passing, and managed to grab hold of the back of the truck, only a couple of handled doors and a small lip across the top of them to hold onto. He flattened himself against the truck as it continued down the road, thanking his lucky stars Q had given his gloves extra grip texture.

Finally the truck slowed down at a gate, which opened and let it in. He quickly scrambled around to one side of the truck as they passed the entrance, trying not to let the guard at the gate see him. As soon as he was past the guard's sight, he let go of the truck, landing and rolling safely behind a large stack of crates about to be moved into a loading bay. When he was sure the coast was clear, he sprinted for the loading bay, ducking inside behind some crates already stacked there. He waited as a man on a forklift moved some crates inside, running alongside the crates quickly and trying to keep pace so even the man in the forklift wouldn't see him. He passed through a doorway and ducked behind some more crates, peering around as the man set the stack down and drove the machine back into the loading bay for another.

Arthur stood up and made his way to the nearest interior door. He assumed he was in a storage area of some sort. This door led to a long hallway with very few doors along it, he jogged down the hall cautiously, footsteps light and almost soundless. At one point some guards passed by and he was forced to slip through one of these doors, but thankfully it turned out to be an empty broom closet.

After several minutes or maybe more of winding through the maze of hallway, Arthur emerged in what appeared to be an office corridor, wider and better lit than the storage areas. He moved down this hallway and ducked into a stairwell to review his file quickly. The tracking device Matthew Williams had been wearing was traced to this building, though it was destroyed almost right after. Arthur pinpointed the part of the building indicated on the rough map he'd been given of a place no one was sure existed and sighed, following the stairs down into the lower levels of the building.

Sneaking through the dark lower corridors, Arthur found himself in a large area of adjoining rooms, where large groups of people were engineering and welding things. There was one room larger than the rest, at least a hungred feet high and quite obviously the silo. Arthur didn't see a missile but he assumed they were still building it, with all this equipment and staff. Carefully he made his way to where the agent had been traced to, approaching the door slowly as he pulled out his gun and screwed on the silencer. He took a deep breath and suddenly burst into the room, expecting to be assailed by terrorists with machine guns.

What he didn't expect was to be met with a small office and a handful of people, all gasping and screaming as they threw their hands up. One of them, a rotund, balding man with large glasses, stood from his seat with his hands in front of him in a pleading gesture. He said something frantic in Russian, shaking his head.

Confused, Arthur furrowed his brow. "I don't understand Russian." He spoke calmly, still wondering why he wasn't being fired on. Was he the only one here with a gun? He glanced around, perplexed. One man in the room was a security guard in uniform. He had a handgun at his hip, but his hands were in the air and his eyes were wide. Before Arthur could speak again, the round man spoke again, this time in broken English with a thick accent.

"Please, we.. are only executive. We do what you want, do not hurt any of people here." The man's eyes were wide and he looked quite convincingly terrified.

"Who do you work for?" Arthur demanded. "Where is the missile?"

"Mi... missile?" The man looked confused and shook his head, a few beads of sweat forming on his temples. "I do not know, please. I work for company, we drill the oil. We are honest businessman, please, if you are terrorist, not hurt us, we here not valuable, w-we cooperate."

Arthur furrowed his brows more, starting to wonder what was going on. "Is this a trick? Where are you hiding the captured agent?"

"P-please, your question make no sense. We do not know, we are working.." The man looked positively on the verge of fainting, staring at Arthur's gun. Finally Arthur lowered the weapon, looking around with some confusion.

"This can't be. This is a missile silo. Someone was just here last night looking for the missile, where is it?" Arthur was getting frustrated now.

"I.. I.." The man shook his head, obviously lost for words. "Please, we are just oil rig, we are not doing anything wrong."

Arthur looked around again, setting his jaw in annoyance. "Then what are these machines?"

"We.. we build drill, it is all parts..."

"..then, what about all these crates?"

"Coal. It is what runs the machine. Please, we are not lying." The man appeared desperate at this point and Arthur frowned, his face reddening slightly.

"So... this is really an oil rig?" He sighed, exasperated. "Damn!" The men in the room jumped, afraid, and Arthur took a step back. "Er... look, I didn't mean to... you have to understand, this is just a huge misunder-" He jumped when suddenly the security guard fired at him but missed. Eyes widening, he stumbled back.

"Call police!" Someone screamed, and Arthur turned and fled. He raced back out the way he had come, grabbing another large truck as it was exiting the facility. He noticed the logo on the side of the truck was indeed an oil company name, and upon inspection of one open crate he passed, it was filled with coal. He swore under his breath as the truck rumbled out just before the gates were shut. He resisted the urge to bang his head on the side of the vehicle. "Stupid, stupid! An oil rig!" He growled. "Of course they would have moved it..." He could have kicked himself.

...

"An oil rig?"

Arthur bit his lip as an exasperated sigh issued over the phone.

"M, I... I don't know what to tell you, i-it's not my fault, this was the information I was given.."

"I don't need backtalk, agent."

"S-sorry, ma'am." Another sigh.

"It's alright. Just report to the embassy for now. I'll send a man in to help you with a new plan..."

"Er... but I don't need help. I thought.. this was a solo mission." Arthur frowned. He didn't like working with partners. They either showed you up or messed you up.

"That's an order agent. You will work with whom I tell you, no matter how... unsavory." At that comment Arthur became worried.

"M... who are you sending to me?" He was met with hesitation and no answer, despite the fact that he still heard breathing on the other line.

"...M?"


	4. Leads

**AN: After this, I warn you that parts of this fic might be hard to handle. It is rated M for a reason. If you have objections to reading about detailed torture, I advise not reading all of this fic.**

**ALSO: PLEASE review! I have a giant ego that needs to be fed every day. If no one reviews this, my ego will burst and I might not write anymore. So just write like one sentence saying how riveting this scene was here, or how you feel about the characters' ordeals, or even about how awesomely freaking awesome I am. You know, anything will do.**

**And if anyone doesn't like my Bond, you can kish my arshe.**

**^^^ And yes, it's SEAN CONNERY Bond 3 But the M in this is the woman from the Casino Royale movie. (that Bond was ugly, I was like ew, so it's Connery 'cause he's the shit.)**

"Double-oh-seven..."

The younger agent smirked as he approached Arthur, looking confident as ever. "That's what they call me, old boy."

Arthur furrowed his brow at the comment. "Old boy?"

"So I heard you busted some executives for running an oil rig. Good show." Bond chuckled, not seeming to notice Arthur's lack of amusement.

"It was intell's mistake..."

"Mm, yes. Blame it on the beaurocracy. Very good show."

"Look, I don't have time for this, Jimmy." Arthur hissed the last word, prodding Bond in the chest with his forefinger, switching from annoyance to anger. "If you're not going to help, just go back home, it's all the same to me and I would rather work alone. I feel like I'll catch something just being in the same room as you." He added with disgust, backing away from Bond and grabbing his bags, most of which was more equipment than personal belongings. "I am going to the hotel to get our rooms, you can come with me or hang around here and hit on everything that moves..." He grumbled, storming off and hailing the first taxi he saw, climbing in and shoving his bags roughly in beside him.

"You've quite the mouth on you, you know that?" Bond queried, sliding easily into the seat beside Arthur as he straightened his tie.

"Clam up, Bond."

"You made sure to get me a room with a king-sized bed, didn't you?"

"James, I swear to-"

"It's my method of operation, Arthur, don't be so touchy." Bond smirked, seeming to enjoy the older agent's frustration. "There's no shame in admitting you're jealous-"

"Bugger off!" Arthur growled, glaring at Bond. "Just- just shut up! For ten bloody minutes!" He begged, rubbing his temples. He was relieved when Bond did indeed shut up for the remainder of the cab ride, even restraining himself as Arthur struggled to pay the fare with Russian money, finally just shoving a large handful of money into the hands of the incredulous cab driver, who sped off quickly.

"Just so you know... you paid three times the actual fare." Bond finally spoke up as Arthur stepped into one of the adjoining hotel rooms, cringing at the hint of another tiff.

"Do I look like I care?" Arthur glared at Bond, who simply shook his head and casually began surveying the room, instinctively making sure the room wasn't bugged or rigged in any way. You never really knew.

The room was large, but not overly so. Keeping a low profile for now, they'd chosen for a less expensive establishment. There was a small sofa, a dining table, and kitchenette. There was also a smaller room off to the side with a large bed, dresser, nightstand, and a very tiny closet. An even smaller attached inlet was the bathroom, with a bathtub included.

Arthur moved to the door between rooms, unlocking it and stepping through to examine the other room. It was very similar to the other, but the bed was smaller and the shower in this bathroom was stand-only. When he felt there was nothing amiss, he returned to the first room. "Alright then. Pick a room already so I can have at least one wall between us.

Bond chuckled. "I like this one."

Arthur gave him a curt nod, rolling his eyes. He could guess why Bond would choose the room where the only difference was a bigger bed and bathtub. He grabbed his bags, taking them to the other room and tossing them on the small sofa as the door between the rooms shut with a snap, locking automatically. Bond only had a key to his own room, Arthur had made sure only he had keys to both rooms. He didn't want the annoying younger man pestering him at any time.

He reached out to flick on the small telivision set in front of the sofa but sighed, shaking his head. Most of it would be in a language he wasn't trained to speak. He cast a glare at the dividing door, knowing Bond-the-showoff was having no trouble understanding Russian television. He spoke probably twice as many languages as Arthur. He also had twice the martial arts expertise. And twice the youth, and so many other things.

He grumbled to himself, standing and going to the kitchenette. Rummaging through the overhead cupboards, he was surprised to find a tea kettle. It appeared to be old, but hardly used, it wasn't even tarnished inside, though the exterior was dusty and a little dinged. He shrugged and filled the teapot, putting it on the small electric stove. He went to his bags and opened the smallest one, a backpack, the only thing with any of his personal belongings in it. He pulled out a small box labeled Earl Grey, selecting a tea bag and stowing the box carefully. He found a mug in the cupboard that only had one moth in it, washing it out with soap from the bathroom before using it.

Finally the water was boiling and Arthur made up his tea, setting it on his nightstand and sitting awkwardly on the small bed. For a while he merely stared at his tea, thoughtful. He wondered if the person he was to rescue was even still alive. Or sane. It seemed like idiocy to send people in to save a doomed individual...

Arthur frowned, feeling bad at his own thoughts. It was his training that made him think like that. For goodness sake, he was only a boy. He should have been getting a degree, not getting captured by terrorists. But still Arthur had it ingrained in him that the individual... himself, as well... simply didn't matter in the big picture...

He sighed, shaking his head. "Just stop it, Arthur... you're still human. Don't be like that prat..." He frowned more and sipped his tea, getting up and going to his bags again. He pulled out the folder he'd been given and took it back to the bed with him, slowly flipping through it and looking at everything as closely as he could. Perhaps he missed something. He tried to piece together the small amount of information gleaned by the CIA, and a lot of it seemed dead-end. He furrowed his brow. If Matthew Williams had been able to find the facility with this meager data, why couldn't Arthur find the new location using the same information? Something didn't add up, almost as if someone failed to include something. This piqued his interest and he pored more carefully over the file, eventually nodding off from exhaustion, folder still in his hands.

...

"Arthur."

He woke with a start to the calm voice, sitting bolt upright in the bed. The still-open folder had been lying on his chest and the papers scattered over the bed. "Bloody Hell, Bond! Wh-what's the matter with you?"

"I don't see why you held onto both keys when you know I can pick any lock."

"I don't see why you sneak into my room when you know I sleep with a gun!"

"Touché."

"What the bloody hell do you want?"

"It's noon. I was wondering if you planned to sleep through the entire mission, or just the first twenty-four hours?" Arthur jumped out of bed, grumbling and gathering the scattered papers, shoving them roughly back into the file folder, which Bond promptly grabbed. "This is the MIA's file?" He asked, opening the folder without waiting for an answer. "...kind of cute."

Arthur turned and snatched the file away from Bond. "You have absolutely no shame." He spat, distractedly assembling his basic gear and stowing it in a utility belt that was easily concealed under his normal clothing. "That boy is probably having bamboo splinters shoved under his fingernails right now and you still have your mind in the bloody gutter..." He turned, trying to shoo Bond out of the room. "Go on now, at least let me get dressed in private..."

"Bamboo splinters are more of a Vietnam thing, old boy, I'm sure it's a lot more gruesome in Russia-"

"Get out!" Arthur yelled, shoving Bond into his own room and slamming the door with a grimace. "No shame, no shame at all! That could be you..." He sighed, exasperated, and turned back to the bedroom, getting dressed quickly. He needed to focus on the plan and not worry so much about what was happening right now.

...

"This is it, the realty agency that sold that property to that oil company." Arthur stepped out of the taxi, leading the way into the large office building. He and Bond slipped small earpieces in their ears before entering the building, and remained casual while approaching the front desk. According to plan, Bond stepped forward first.

"Prostite, vy mozhete nam pomoch'?" He asked in fluent Russian while Arthur looked blankly oblivious. "Moi klient nuzhdaetsya v pomoshchi, no on ne vladyeet russkim yazykom." He gestured to Arthur, who gave a nervous smile and confused wave to the woman behind the desk.

"Kto vi?" the woman inquired, nodding toward Bond.

Bond chuckled, the woman's question apparantly redundant "Ja yego perevodchika, konechno." The woman looked a little flustered. "Oh, ne chuvstvovat' sebya plokho. A devushku svoyei krasotoi imyeet malo vremeni, chtoby dumat' o veshchakh~"

Arthur frowned at Bond's tone and cleared his throat, while the girl meanwhile became more flustered despite her look of confusion.

"Oh, sorry Arthur. I didn't mean to be rude." Bond turned to the girl. "Moi drug ne zamuzhem, vy znaete..." The woman looked even more confused and flustered, glancing at Arthur before hurriedly getting up out of her seat.

"J-ja poluchu kto-to vam pomoch'..." She nodded, blushing, and left through a side door into a hallway.

"You chased her off!" Arthur hissed accusingly. "What did you say?"

"Hush now Arthur, she's just getting us someone we can talk to..." Bond rolled his eyes a bit.

...

Finally they were able to meet with the man in charge of the property sale involving the oil rig. He sat them down and asked them what their interests were and Arthur explained, grateful the man spoke English.

"Well I was actually interested in the property at er..." He glanced at the file he was accumulating for this case, in which he'd included the oil company. "Barcovic Oil? Ah, I was thinking of opening a um... plastics factory." He wished he'd thought this out more.

The man raised an eyebrow. "Oil is more valuable don't you think?"

"Well yes, er... it's just that, I'm not an oil company. But I would like to... maybe I could sit down with them, and discuss maybe buying the property from them?" Arthur tried, ignoring the way Bond stared at him like he was an idiot.

"I don't know about that.."

"Or maybe the previous owner?"

"No." The man said a bit too quickly.

"Excuse me?"

"That is not possible. The oil company has been there for years, previous owner has passed on."

"Ah, I see.." Arthur glanced at Bond, giving him a nonverbal signal. He knew they were being lied to. "Well perhaps I'll try calling the oil company then. I'm so sorry to have disturbed you..." He gave a sigh, leading Bond out of the room, but this time slipping down another hall as soon as no one was looking. "That was the place, he's lying. That means they know who the group is, and probably even have their information." Bond nodded and silently looked around.

"Well do you think it's in his office?"

"I don't know... we could look but we have to get him out of there... what are you doing?" Arthur looked confused as Bond suddenly straightened up, but he was quickly answered when Bond pulled a nearby fire alarm, grabbed Arthur's sleeve, and tugged him into the nearest empty closet.

"Alright then..." Arthur rolled his eyes, listening as people rushed by evacuating the building. Eventually the footsteps and shouting subsided and they were left with only the piercing alarm. Bond stepped out first, checking the hall before leading the way back to the office they'd been in. The man they'd spoken to was gone, and they started shuffling through files in his desk and filing cabinet, looking for any recent transactions.

"Arthur, here." Bond held up a folder with Barkovic Oil scrawled on the tab. He opened it and went through a few papers. "The previous owners are listed as a pharmaceutical plant, making generic prescription drugs. I'm sure..."

Suddenly Arthur tensed, interrupting Bond. "Wait, James... do you smell that?" Bond turned around, darting to the door and throwing it open. He was pushed back by a sudden burst of flames. The hallway outside had been set on fire. "Bloody hell! They knew we were in here!"

"Now's not the time to freak out Arthur." Bond said in as calm a tone as he could, going to the window and tearing the blinds away only to find bars outside the glass.

"Oh, I think it's a perfect time to freak out." Arthur whimpered. They were trapped.

**AN: I didn't translate the Russian 'cause it's cooler making the reader feel Arthur's confusion. But if you're dying to know, I did in fact translate them right here:**

"Excuse me, can you help us?" "My client needs assistance, but he does not speak Russian."

"Who are you?"

"I'm his translator, of course." "Oh, don't feel bad. A girl so beautiful has litle time to think of things." (Yeah, he insulted her the dumb broad)

"My friend is single you know."

"I-I will get someone to help you..."


	5. Torture

"It is such a simple thing to hide from people. Your name." That calm, sweet voice spoke up. "But I understand. You have been told not to speak at all. Not even.. to beg..."

There was a sudden horrible burning as a hot brand was pressed to the center of his chest. He screamed in agony, tearing his own flesh as he struggled against the restraints of the chair he was in. The back of the chair had wooden pegs in it, sharpened to crude spikes about an inch long. These spikes dug into Matthew's back every time he thrashed in pain, but there was no avoiding it. He whimpered pathetically when the brand was pulled away, his breath coming in tiny, wheezing bursts.

"I have not even asked you anything good. I just want your name." The voice said in an obviously teasing tone. Matthew shut his eyes, still legally blind from the nightvision mishap. He knew giving his name couldn't hurt. But that wasn't the point. Being broken was being broken, it didn't matter what they got out of you. And he'd been taught to bite his own tongue off before he'd spill anything. It seemed like that was about his only option left.

"How can you do this? For a country who abandons you once you are captured?" Matthew could have given him any number of answers, but he kept his mouth shut. "I see. Well you will soon see that being loyal to your country is not worth it. If they would let you endure pain, they do not care about you." He wasn't stupid, he knew that. Everyone knew that. That wasn't the point...

"Hold him. Here." Matthew felt a pair of strong hands grab his arm, holding it in place against the arm of the chair in a crushing grip. "I would hold very still if I were you..." He whimpered, instinctively jerking away, but the two hands held him fast. He felt the point of something piercing his skin near his wrist and sliding along, cutting him open. The pain was sudden and shocking and he cried out, trying to pull away though he couldn't. The blade continued along its path, turning and cutting another line at an angle. This path continued a few inches before the blade turned again, drawing a third line and meeting the end of the first as the man cut a perfect triangle into the oblivious, writhing Matthew's arm. "Do you know what flaying is?" The man asked, and Matthew heard the blade being set down and another being picked up.

"It is very fun~" The man chuckled, sliding the edge of a tool under the triangle of skin he'd seperated and prying it upward. Matthew screamed as he felt his skin being peeled away, screamed so loud he thought his lungs would bleed. He thrashed, trying to escape the pain, and was only met with the spikes of the chair and more pain. Finally his torturer removed the small piece of skin and stepped away from Matthew, who continued sobbing, trying to shut out the pain like they'd taught him to.

"Maybe you continue being silent, and I can make a lampshade." The man teased, snickering. Matthew shuddered, partly in fear and part in anger at how sick one person could be. "Perhaps you are not taking me seriously because I let you sit down." Matthew felt the restraints being taken off and he was dragged out of the chair. The man pulled him to his feet by his hair and he cried out, hands flying up automatically to grasp the man's giant hand. Someone else grabbed his arms, twisting them behind his back roughly and binding his wrists, not avoiding the fresh open wounds on his arms.

He struggled and when the knots were tightened, he was released, collapsing in a heap on the floor and panting, feeling a moment of relief of cool concrete against his pounding head. The relief was short-lived as someone began to crank something, and Matthew felt the rope he was tied to begin to go taut, pulling him up into a sitting position again. He opened his eyes and tried to look behind him, but even if he could have, his eyes were still very bad. Suddenly Matthew was yanked backward. He cried out and tried to stand up as the rope tightened more and more, pulling him almost straight up. He was dragged to his feet and gasped as the rope kept pulling, lifting him into the air.

As soon as his feet left the ground, Matthew screamed. His arms were being pulled at an unbearable angle, straight upward. There was no way to struggle, or even move. Even screaming in pain hurt, there was so much pressure on his chest. He was lifted higher, whimpering, and finally the cranking stopped, leaving Matthew dangling a few feet off the ground. He felt someone's hands grab his legs.

"If you say your name, I will let you down. I will even let you take rest of today off." The man chuckled. Matthew whimpered but bit his lip, refusing to speak. "Very well." The man suddenly tugged on Matthew's legs. He cried out as the pressure became too much and one of his arms dislocated with a sickening pop. The man kept tugging slowly, seeming to delight in the other's screams. "You will make me do the other one too?"

Matthew only screamed and sobbed, and the man shrugged, jerking him roughly and dislocating his other arm. The boy cried out louder, repeatedly, choking on his tears. He thought sure he would simply die from the pain. He continued his pitiful wails as someone lowered him to the floor and untied him, picking him up and half-dragging him out of the room and back to the small basement room he was being kept in. Every touch was agony and he struggled against him until he was tossed unceremoniously onto the tattered old cot.

"All this, and for what?" The man's voice was strangely kind now, even as he grabbed Matthew by one of his arms and pulled him closer. Matthew yelped and tried to pull away.

"Stop. Do not fight." The voice was firm and Matthew was restrained with his back against the man's chest. He whimpered as his arm was grabbed again and then twisted. He sobbed again, crying out when his arm suddenly snapped back into place. He panted, gasping, as the man grabbed his other arm and twisted it, popping it back in. Finally he let go and Matthew curled up in a ball on the cot, sobbing and trembling. He heard the man whispering something to him, but if it was in English, he didn't hear what it was.

The man stood up and paced a few steps before turning back to Matthew and grabbing him behind the head, lifting him up more gently than before. Matthew felt a pinch as a syringe met his neck and he gasped. "You see. They leave you here to be tormented. I am the one giving you sleep." The man spoke quietly, his voice fading as Matthew began to slip out of consciousness.


	6. Intermission

"Not yet." Bond shook his head, somehow remaining calm. He pulled a small disk from his belt and stuck it to the wall near the window. "Plastic explosive. Put your head down." Arthur gaped at Bond, wondering at how insane he was, using explosives in a tiny room with a fire on the other side. Bond grabbed Arthur suddenly and pulled him behind the desk just as the window exploded.

"Are you daft?" Arthur snapped, shaken, as they stood up and brushed debris of themselves. "You could have bloody killed us both!"

"No matter, Arthur. We're free..." Bond nodded, going over to the window and giving it a shove. The window itself had been shattered, and though the bars were still firmly in place, the wall around it had crumbled to almost nothing, and the window easily tilted out of the window and crashed to the street below. "I suppose insurance for windows should extend to the walls surrounding them." Bond smirked and reached under his jacket for his zipline, attaching the grapple end to what little was left of the wall and grabbing Arthur around the waist.

"You're like my damsel in distress now." He chuckled. Arthur punched his arm as hard as he could.

"Shut up, or I'll show you distress." Arthur snapped. Bond ignored the threat, hopping out the window without a moment's hesitation, despite the fact that Arthur shut his eyes tightly until they reached the ground. Bond unhooked his line and tugged Arthur to the nearest alley, where they made their escape quickly to another part of the town.

"You looked a bit tense there."

"You tried to grapple off a crumbling wall built by Russians, you're insane." Arthur huffed, walking faster than Bond in an attempt to leave him behind.

"Excuses, Arthur..."

Arthur snorted dismissively. "Did you manage to save that file?"

Bond smirked. "I did." He pulled the file from inside his jacket, opening it and handing it to Arthur. "Here's the page about the previous owners..."

"Pharmaceuticals my arse..."

...

The drug was starting to wear off. Matthew felt something moving on the bed near him and suddenly someone touched his face. He jerked away and whimpered in pain.

"Sssh..."

The hands touched his face again. Soft and warm, not like all the others that grabbed him and threw him and punched him. These hands slowly extracted blood-soaked sheets from beneath Matthew, gently turning him over. He felt something cold pressed to his back and he hissed as the alcohol burned the deep wounds there. The other person ignored him, only shushing him softly as he continued to tend Matthew's injuries. He tried to hold still despite the pain, welcoming the only kindness he'd been offered since his capture.

The hands moved over his skin gently, washing him, bandaging him. A few wounds even had to be stitched shut. A warm cloth washed blood and tears from his face. Water was brought to his lips and he drank it gratefully. Dry sheets were laid on the cot and Matthew never fought the hands as they turned him, checking him for anything missed.

The hands cradled his head gently. He didn't struggle when he heard them tapping the syringe. The familiar pinch in his neck made him gasp.

"Sssh..."

...

Arthur sat, poring over the file he'd obtained. He could tell it was a coverup operation simply by the lack of information. A regular proprietorship would get in trouble for leaving out so many details. He sighed, wondering how he'd track these people who seemingly had no names and no backgrounds.

"I'd say it's time for infiltration, my good Arthur." Bond spoke up, preoccupied with straightening his hair in the mirror of the hotel bathroom. Arthur rolled his eyes, wishing the younger agent would stay in his own room.

"I bloody know that. I just don't know where to start because these buggers 'don't exist'." He scoffed, tossing the file onto the table frustratedly.

"I'd say we take a guess."

"..say wot?" Arthur turned on the sofa to look at Bond.

"You know, there are a lot of small time weapon and drug operations that we let slide because they don't help us catch these big guns. Now.. what if they think the same way? Pretend to be a small time operation when they're actually a terrorist group. Hiding in the most obvious place, as they say." Arthur couldn't very well dismiss the idea. Bond had a point to be sure. There were lots of drug and gang investigations deployed by MI6, CIA, and other national security organizations, that wound up letting smaller offenders off the hook when they turned out not to lead to bigger issues, in the hopes that they'd come across the real criminals later.

"You could be right.."

"Of course I'm right, Arthur." Bond chuckled lightly. "We only need to find one of them and an excuse to get involved."

"Well we can use intell for that... and I suppose we'll have to pose as villains." Arthur nodded, wondering if Bond already had a plan. Which worried him more than it comforted him.

"Indeed. I've already started designing our roles. Now-"

"Wait a moment, were you planning on discussing this, or just asking me to approve of what you've already decided?" Arthur frowned. He hated when he had to go along with the plan of someone he didn't fully trust. And James Bond was one of those people. He was far from loyal in the romance department, how could he stick up for a partner in the heat of danger?

"Of course Arthur... you'll get an opinion."

"Damn straight..."

"Would you like your dress to match your shoes?" Bond asked casually, smirking ever so slightly.

"Wot?"


	7. Glimpse

Matthew panted, head hanging between his knees as he sat with his arms tied tightly behind him. He jumped at the sound of another spark and whimpered, still blind enough that he could only see the arc of white-hot electricity in front of him but not the person holding the metal clips. He heard a chuckle and they teased him, rubbing the clips together again and creating another loud spark which he jerked away from. The chuckling stopped.

Suddenly the cold metal clips were pressed to Matthew's bare chest near his shoulders on either side. He never felt the cold though, screaming and writhing as thousands of volts of electricity coursed through him in a matter of nanoseconds. His body seized up and he tasted blood as he unwillingly bit into his own tongue. Finally the clips were pulled away and he went limp again, folded nearly in half and looking more like a ragdoll than a human being.

His hair hung limply, soaked with blood and sweat. His eyes were hollow and dull gray at this point. His skin was crisscrossed with various cuts and burns. As he gasped for air through the thick blood in his mouth he wondered if he would die before he gave in, whether anyone would even waste resources to recover him, whether it wouldn't be better to simply kill himself next time they left him alone, if he even had the strength.

...

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this..."

Arthur tried to ignore Bond's amused smirk as he straightened his padded bra under the sleek red cocktail dress he was being forced to wear. He tried to tell himself it was a normal part of spying but it didn't stop him from blushing furiously as he slid pantyhose over his legs and slipped his feet into matching red stilettos. He tugged on the red silk gloves, which reached just past his elbows, and finally grabbed the white-blonde wig with its short girlish curls and went to the mirror to put it on, tucking his own sandy hair under it and adjusting it until it looked convincing. He sighed and grumbled as he picked up the makeup kit they'd bought, fumbling with the items with a sense of utter confusion.

"I think you look fine." Bond said from behind him, and Arthur could only guess where the other was staring. "Having trouble? I can help.."

"No thank you." Arthur quipped, trying to apply lipstick as he glared at himself in the mirror. "You've 'helped' quite enough."

"You asked me to help with the zipper..."

"Yes, and what part of 'can you help me with the zipper' sounds like 'can you come over here and grab my arse'?" Arthur rounded on him with a scowl.

"Don't be so touchy Arthur."

"Oh believe me, I am not the 'touchy' one here." he scoffed, returning to the mirror and glancing up when Bond appeared in the reflection.

"Really, Arthur, let me help. You think I've never done a lady's makeup for her?"

"I'm not a lady! I'm a bloody man! Wanker!" Arthur huffed, surprised when Bond grabbed the lipstick away from him. "Give that back, stop playing around!" He snapped, surprised when Bond suddenly put a hand to his cheek, holding him still.

"Here, you do it like this." He explained calmly, slowly gliding the lipstick across Arthur's lower lip to cover it. He instructed the other to rub his lips together to paint the top one before reaching up and dabbing the excess away with a tissue. "See? It's quite simple.." He ignored Arthur as he grumbled something very rude and insisted on finishing up the other's makeup, applying rouge and eyeshadow almost expertly. Finally he finished and stepped back to admire his handiwork, chuckling. "Your blushing Arthur, I didn't even need to use the rouge..."

"Oh clam up!" Arthur sputtered, irritated as he stuck on some clip-on earrings and a necklace. "It's not my fault you have an aversion to personal space!" Bond just chuckled again, gathering items he needed and placing them on his person. Finally they fitted flesh-toned earpieces into their ears in case they got separated, Arthur grabbing the small red handbag with his own equipment in it before hobbling to the door. "Good God, these are so hard to walk in..."

...

It wasn't that hard to get into the party, which took place at an enormous mansion build in some bygone century. There was only one guard posted at the front checking invitations. Bond lead the way through a lower back window that lead into a basement area. Arthur noticed more stairs and an elevator leading even further into the ground and made note of it before the two snuck upstairs and slipped into the crowd of guests.

Arthur furrowed his brow as Bond grabbed him by the upper arm, linking arms with him and placing Arthur's free hand on his own forearm. The blonde's face turned red as he tried to tell himself it was only a role and he could give Bond a proper kick in the trousers when they got back to the hotel room.

The two pretended to mingle, Bond making up some story about his home in the Caiman Islands in order to join in a nearby conversation, obviously trying to figure out if anyone at the event knew their targets personally. They continued in this manner, trying to remain inconspicuous as they conversed with different groups. Despite everyone's fancy attire and wealthy look, Arthur could see in their faces they were nothing more than lowlife thugs.

There was a bit of a commotion as someone somewhere tapped a spoon against their glass, drawing the attention of everyone in the room to the large, ornate staircase against one wall. Arthur turned, peering over the heads of all the mobsters and crooked lawmakers to see what was so important.

Halfway up the staircase a man descended slowly, deliberate in his steps. He stood a good foot taller than any other man in the room. He was dressed in a a uniform from some bygone military era, a black buttoned coat stretched over his barrel chest and threatened to burst at the seams. His hands were sheathed in black suede gloves but were obviously large and powerful, fingers reaching wide enough to crush a man's skull. The man's overall appearance was intimidating, up to the tall black ushanka sitting atop his ash-blonde hair. Despite this, his skin was fair and his eyes were round and a pale shade of violet, providing a strikingly innocent break to the man's wicked demeanor.

Beside the man, clinging to his arm, was a very petite woman, dressed from head to toe in a flowery oriental garment that covered her skin but clung to her body slightly, displaying a very feminine, albeit flat-chested, physique. Her hair, what Arthur could see of it, was raven colored and covered with an ornate headdress. A silk veil matching the garment and headdress covered a good two-thirds of the woman's face, leaving naught showing but dark almond-shaped eyes that flickered timidly from the floor to the crowd and back again.

A smile played on the large man's lips as he neared the foot of the stairs and several people nearby greeted him respectfully. He held up a single hand in a halting motion and all noise remaining in the room ceased immediately.

"As you all know, I am Ivan Braginski. You have been invited this evening to partake in opportunity that I am sure none of you would take lightly." The man's voice was surprisingly soft, his tone almost gentle, despite the fact that his carefully pronounced words carried far to the opposite side of the room where Arthur stood with Bond. His thick accent seemed to make it difficult for him to speak English and his words were very slow, almost drawling. Arthur assumed the English meant many people here were foreign businessmen. It was becoming quite apparent that he and Bond had indeed stumbled upon the terrorists they were seeking.

"This opportunity of course, is chance to join the arms race, for once with the same power as the governments who oppress you. With my help you all can be the 'superpowers', just like China, and Russia, and da, even the infamous Amerika." At the last few words he sneered, his tone getting slightly more malicious, and several people in the crowed hissed. Arthur shivered slightly, thanking God he wasn't American. The bloodthirsty terrorists could probably have smelled it on him if they wanted to.

"I am about to unveil a new weapon. One that exceeds even the might of the most powerful nuclear vessels..." Everyone in the room seemed to straighten up eagerly at this information. "In face it is completely new, and innovative.. In one week from now, I will reveal it to you all. There will be an auction. I expect to see you all there."

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he listened, waiting for the man to reveal a bit more information. Unfortunately he didn't, and waved a hand dismissively as he continued down the last few stairs and joined the crowd. Several people crowded around him, asking questions in different languages, whipping out checkbooks. The large man scowled and waved them away as well, refusing to answer any of their questions, his soft voice carrying over the clamoring people easily. "You will wait until unveiling..." He shook his head at them and continued on his way, one large hand reaching down to squeeze the rear of the woman beside him, who jumped as the bit of her face that was showing turned red.

"We'll see about that.." Bond smirked, tugging Arthur forward and making his way toward the man. Arthur looked surprised but followed him, hiding the anxiety he always felt when in enemy territory. Bond however strode up to the man with a confident grin, keeping Arthur uncomfortably close to his side as he spoke up.

"It's a pleasure to meet the host of such a decadent party." He chuckled, extending a hand without even the slightest hint of nervousness. "Bond. James Bond. Let me tell you, you know how to tease people."

Bond's greeting was met with a cold stare and no answer, perhaps because he was speaking English too well. Ivan didn't try to shake Bond's hand, acting as if it was an action far below someone of his standing.

"Ah, the silent type." Bond chuckled again. "You'd get along with her then." He suddenly nudged Arthur forward. "Alice is also a bit adverse to socialization. Say hello Alice."

Arthur's eyes widened and he tried to play it cool, nodding his head curtly and taking a step back. "Hello..."

Finally the large Russian's cold expression shifted slightly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reached out and took Arthur's gloved hand in his own much larger one, leaning down to kiss the back of his hand lightly and then glancing up with a leer. "It is a pleasure to meet Alice~" He didn't seem to notice the woman next to him narrow her eyes slightly at the action.

Arthur swallowed nervously, slowly pulling his hand away and stepping back further as he spoke up softly. "Y-yes, nice to.. meet you too..." He felt a hand at his back as Bond prevented him from backing up further and Arthur felt a flash of annoyance as he realized he was being used as bait.

"So, 'innovative'..." Bond spoke again casually. "That's interesting. Did you mean it's a new sort of technology? Or simply a new design?"

"You will wait until unveiling..." He repeated calmly, expression hardening again as he looked at Bond.

"My apologies." Bond nodded. "I was just wondering. You know. I wouldn't want to spend billions of dollars on just any old missile.. besides, Alice is very into technology and she was wondering as well..." Arthur resisted the urge to glare at Bond. Not only was he not in the slightest acquainted with the latest technology, he also didn't appreciate Bond using him to seduce a terrorist.

"Is that so..?" Ivan turned back to Arthur, who hesitated before nodding. The tall man smirked and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. "Then you will come to unveiling, da?" He giggled softly as Arthur scowled slightly and grabbed the blonde's chin in his hand, tilting his face upwards. "Do not be angry~ Everyone has to wait, even the pretty girls~" Arthur's face flared at the comment and the man chuckled, releasing him. "I have many people to speak with. I will see you next week." Ivan smirked before slowly walking away, the short woman staying close by his side.

"Hm. It didn't work, Arthur." Bond frowned slightly, tugging Arthur's arm again as he walked the other way, thinking and looking around.

"No, you think?" Arthur hissed, flushed and irritated.

"Don't take it personal Arthur. Besides, he seemed to like you.. perhaps he's into Asians.. " Bond added, glancing back very obviously at the ornately dressed woman's rear end as she walked away with Ivan.

"Perhaps you're a bloody moron." Arthur glared at Bond as the other suddenly tugged him out of the room and into the hall.

"Hush now, Arthur." Bond stated flatly, looking around as he lead the other down the hall. "Look around. There must be an office or something where he keeps information."

"He probably rented this building for this party." Arthur sighed, following Bond.

"Even so it might be here. People like him have a habit of keeping their plans as close as possible." Bond chuckled knowingly "Trust me."

"Trust you?" Arthur scowled. "I never trust you. You're a fool and hotheaded, and you just tried to use me as bait!"

Bond turned around, looking confused. "I'm sorry.. did that offend you?"

"Offend me? Of course it bloody offends me!" He blushed, his voice becoming considerably louder. "I'm not a bloody prop, or bribe or.. or whatever the hell you seem to think I am..."

"Arthur, please, it's just a role, I wasn't trying to.."

"And you're so damned obvious too! 'Oh here's a pretty lady for you if you spill your secrets', are you bloody daf-" Arthur was suddenly cut off as Bond grabbed his arms, pushing him back against the nearest wall and kissing him roughly before he had time to react. He froze, eyes widening, and struggled to push the other man away, before Bond simply pulled back of his own accord.

"Arthur, calm down. You're a wonderful agent, and you played the part well. I apologize if I seemed to be manipulating you."

Arthur glared daggers at Bond, whacking him hard with the hand bag. "G-git.." He huffed and turned to hide his red face. "Just look for the damned plans.." He bit his lip as he heard Bond chuckle before walking off to search on his own and he quickly made off in the opposite direction, grumbling to himself and flustered at the situation.

Finding some stairs, Arthur ventured to the upper levels of the building. He was certain this building was rented, or borrowed. A terrorist would be daft to hold a nuclear TupperWare party in their own front hall. But Bond seemed confident there was something here worth checking out, so here he was, sneaking about in a dark hallway of an old house dressed like a woman.

He froze suddenly as he thought he heard something behind him, ducking into an alcove and peering back down the hall the way he'd come from. He saw nothing and swallowed nervously before continuing down the hallway.

After a few minutes Arthur came upon a door with a letter slot in it, looking suspiciously like an office or study door. He rolled his eyes at the flamboyancy of having a mail slot in a personal office in one's house, picking the lock and quickly slipping inside. He thought he saw a small blinking light, but when he turned to look there was nothing there. Simply his paranoia getting the better of him.

Looking around the office, Arthur noted a large desk in the center of the room, and an equally large chair situated behind it. A sleek, top-of-the-line computer sat upon the desk, monitor glowing faintly in the dark though the screen was black at the moment. He ignored the shelves and drawers around him and reached out, touching the mouse. The monitor blinked on, revealing a log-in page asking for the user's passcode.

Undeterred, Arthur set the little red hand bag on the smooth surface of the ornate desk, opening it and pulling out a small cellphone-like object. He pulled a cord from the back of it and unwound it, plugging it into the computer's USB port. A small box popped up on the screen and the cursor appeared in the passcode field. The box flickered as a program ran through millions of possible words and combinations, using the computer's own memory to see which parts of words and numbers triggered it, and finally freezing as a correct passcode was found. No old-school deducing here.

Once inside the account, Arthur began searching all the desktop files, looking for information. A lot of documentation seemed to be legitimate business transactions but to Arthur's trained eye there were a myriad of fallacies reminiscent of fraud and cover-up operations. Finally a subset folder titled 'unveiling' caught his eye. Too obvious, he rolled his eyes and clicked on the folder. At the same time he thought he noticed movement in the reflection on the computer monitor...

WHACK!

Arthur barely had time to duck as something whizzed over his head so fast it made a sharp whistling sound, colliding with the computer monitor and sending it to the floor, where it hit with a loud smashing sound and flickered off. Arthur jumped to his feet, grabbing the hand bag and lunging away from the desk, turning around to face his attacker and finding only an empty room.

Still confused, Arthur had little time to register what was going on before the object swung at him again from behind, seeing the movement he gasped and ducked again, hearing a small snap as one of the straps on the dress was severed. He made a wild leap for the desk again, missing by a few feet and grabbing the computer monitor, which he proceeded to hurl at the unknown assailant.

Something shifted in the shadows as the monitor crashed into the wall, sending sparks and broken plastic. Arthur heard a quiet grunt before something flew at him, whizzing by and grazing his cheek. He gasped at the stinging pain and glanced over his shoulder to see a star-shaped bladed weapon lodged in the wall. His eyes widened and he quickly ducked behind the desk as another star spun toward him.

Arthur eyed the window, wondering if he had time to get to the door. He made to stand up just as what was left of the computer monitor flew past his head, smashing through the window and plummeting to the ground below. He paled and stood quickly, running for the door and stumbling as the shoes he wore caused him to twist his ankle. He fell to his knees as the mysterious attacker rushed at him.

He threw his hands up and grasped at the person's wrists, kicking out a foot at their chest and feeling a small satisfaction at the yelp the sharp heel of the shoe caused. He lifted his foot and vaulted the surprisingly light person over himself, hearing them crash into the desk behind him as their weapon clattered to the floor. Arthur jumped up, cursing his lack of mobility when in a dress, and ran for the door quickly, stopping for only a second to snatch up his red hand bag and dashing out the door as another bladed star zipped by and embedded itself in the doorjamb.

Frantic, Arthur made a mad dash to the nearest stairwell, limping up the steps as the heel had broken off of one of the shoes. A few flights later, he found himself running through an outer door and onto a freezing, windy roof. He gasped and looked around, running to the edge and looking down to see a swarm of guards running about below. He or Bond must have triggered some sort of alarm downstairs he was unaware of.

Pondering his predicament, Arthur didn't hear the door softly creak as it reopened, a dark shadow moving from the doorway and toward him. He turned just in time to see the figure rushing at him in the dark and he gasped, lunging out of the way as the other passed him. He tripped over his own feet and went sprawling, tearing the dress he wore as he struggled to stand up. He felt a stinging pain and something warm, looking down to see a cut in his side that was bleeding profusely. He hadn't noticed it at first in his adrenaline rush to get away, but now as the figure turned around, sword glinting in the tiny bit of light from below, he found it difficult to even move through the pain, staggering away as steps quickened and the blade rose and flew toward Arthur.

BANG!

Arthur cried out instinctively at the gunshot, covering his face as the sword narrowly passed by him, the figure stumbling slightly and nearly falling. Looking up Arthur saw Bond standing in the stairwell doorway, gun in hand and a cold look on his face. He hadn't had time to put a silencer on, and the gunshot rung in Arthur's ears as he rushed forward, shooting at the assailant again.

The attacker grunted as the bullet barely missed them, turning and suddenly jumping over the wall, deftly catching hold of the fire escape, climbing onto it, and kicking in a window, escaping through the opening just as Bond ran to the edge of the roof and shot at him again.

"Damn. I didn't see his face, did you?" Bond asked, turning to help Arthur up and frowning when the other pulled away and made a sound of pain. "You're hurt."

"I'll be fine.." Arthur panted, a hand clutched to his side as he pushed thoughts of how deep it felt to the back of his mind. He was starting to feel faint and they were surrounded by guards on the ground. "H-how are we going to get out of here?"

"Let me handle it." Bond said simply, already watching something on the ground with intent, brows furrowed in that way they did when he was thinking something very spectacular, and usually very dangerous. Before Arthur had a chance to ask, Bond grabbed him again, ignoring his whimper of pain. "You'll have to hold onto me, Arthur." The blonde blushed a bit, annoyed, but figured Bond must have a plan, so he wrapped his arms around the other tightly. He felt unnerved as the other wrapped an arm securely around him and stepped toward the building's edge.

"James..."

"Don't worry, I've done this plenty of times."

"D-done wh-" Arthur never got to ask, as Bond pulled his zipline from his belt and attached the small grapple to a nearby heavy-duty cable and simply jumped off the roof.

Despite having done a routine grapple many times during training, Arthur always found it a bit terrifying plummeting to the ground below through ice-cold air with only a wire and one man's arms to keep you from becoming the kind of evidence they collect with a vacuum cleaner. So it wasn't really that unexpected that he screamed like a girl the entire way down, stopping only when Bond managed a hard tug on the zipline and they began to swing in an large arc around the guards below.

Arthur paled as the arc took them at an appalling speed straight toward a brick wall, hiding his face in Bond's chest and waiting to die. Suddenly, the line caught on a tree and they were pivoted over the brick wall, Bond releasing the zipline at just the right time to send them both flying into a nearby snow bank.

Arthur popped out of the snow, hyperventilating* "You ASS!" He growled as Bond emerged from the snow beside him, and began beating the other man with his fists. Bond grabbed Arthur's wrists to stop him.

"Really Arthur, I just saved your life."

"Next time just shoot me, git!"

"Oh don't exaggerate. It wasn't that bad."

"We almost died! And they could have seen us and shot at us, we'd have been perfect targets in the open like that!" Arthur continued to rant until Bond grabbed him and half-dragged him along the wall and down into a dark area of trees where Bond's car was hidden. They got in, Arthur still grumbling, and began to drive back to the hotel.

"Here." Bond ushered Arthur to the sofa as they entered the room, going to one of Arthur's bags and rifling around before finding a first aid kit. "Take the dress off so I can fix that." He said, nodding.

"I'd rather not." Arthur frowned.

Bond raised a brow quizzically but didn't change expression otherwise. "You're bleeding very badly. If we go to a hospital they might be looking for us."

"But..." Arthur sighed, realizing he did need medical attention, even if this was very unwelcome attention from Bond. He reluctantly took the dress off, and the shoes and pantyhose while he was at it. Bloody uncomfortable women's clothing... He squirmed as Bond sized up needles, a bit uncomfortable at being in only his boxers, the one piece of male attire he'd been able to keep despite Bond's insistence that panties would make it more 'realistic'.

Bond took his time, getting some hot water to clean the wound before dousing it in alcohol, which got him a good smack in the head from a surprised Arthur.

"It's to stave off infection, Arthur." Bond frowned, rubbing his head. "I'm trying to help." Arthur pouted as Bond sprayed some local anesthetic on the wound and began to stitch him up. He glared at the wall, trying not to look at the cut, which wasn't quite as deep as he'd thought. He felt gyped, he hadn't even gotten to lok at those files before being attacked. As if reading his mind, Bond spoke up again. "Don't blame yourself Arthur. We were probably being monitored as soon as we walked into that place as foreigners." He nodded. Arthur looked at him strangely. It almost sounded as if he was trying to make him feel better or something.

"It was because your man-in-a-dress idea was stupid." Arthur blushed, meeting Bond's implied comfort with spite instead. "That's how they were onto us.."

"Arthur, don't say that." Bond said, looking up with a smirk playing at his lips. "I think you were quite a convincing woman." He chuckled as this made Arthur blush more.

"Shut up! It was a stupid idea!" Arthur retorted, straightening up a bit and gasping at the pain in his side. He thought he saw a flash of something unfamiliar on Bond's face and the other reached out, pushing him gently against the sofa.

"Don't. Moving like that, you'll hurt yourself all over again." He shook his head as Arthur glared at him and suddenly leaned in, kissing the indignant blonde slowly and ignoring the other's pushing and struggling to get away from him. He pulled back and braced himself for the slap that came next, rubbing his face and smirking. "No slapping Arthur. Doctor's orders."

"Bite my britches." Arthur grumbled, flustered and angry.

"I'd watch what you say." Bond chuckled again, helping the reluctant Arthur off the sofa and into the bed in the other room. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay the night with you?" He asked in a teasing tone. Arthur furrowed his brows.

"No thank you, git. You've done enough. Just get in your own bloody room so I ccan get rid of this headache." He griped, folding his arms until Bond shrugged and left the room. Hearing the adjoining room door shut, Arthur sighed, grumbling and trying to stop the flustered feeling he still had. He knew bloody well Bond hit on everything that moved. He was no different.

He shook his head, telling himself it didn't matter. It was just Bond's defense mechanism after all. In this job you had to have something or you'd go insane... he decided that was a good explanation as any and drifted off to sleep.

**AM: Sorry for the blunt and sucky ending =\ it was the fight scene I wanted to get to **


	8. One Step Back

Arthur opened his eyes groggily, taking a few moments to remember where he was. He stirred in the bed and winced, remembering his injury as pain shot through his side. The pain also reminded him of Bond's affront on his personal space last night; his face reddened and he tried to think of something else, which was difficult when he propped himself on his elbows only to see Bond perched on the edge of his bed going over a file. He growled lowly and the other man looked up with a pleasant smile.

"Good morning, sunshine."

"Can it." Arthur snapped, trying to sit up and gasping at another sudden pain in his side.

"I'd stay still for a while if I were you. That cut needs to heal." Bond nodded.

"Rubbish. We can't afford that sort of delay and you know it." Arthur retorted, slowly turning and putting his feet on the floor before carefully standing up. "Ow."

Bond frowned. "Suit yourself. But I'll insist that you take it easy. You know, Arthur. They wouldn't have sent you if you weren't an exemplary agent. And there's no need to waste an exemplary agent, so please don't die." He stated it casually as he stood up, clapping Arthur on the shoulders and causing the other's knees to buckle. "Oh, sorry old boy."

"I'm fine..." Arthur scoffed, straightening up. He blushed realizing he was still in his boxers. "Now if you don't mind I'd like to get dressed..."

"Sure you won't need help getting your shirt on~?" Bond chuckled. Arthur glared at him, turning red.

"No I bloody well won't! Go on now, shoo!" He shoved Bond out of the room, wincing as it caused him pain, and shut the door. He grumbled and started getting dressed, gasping in pain as he went to pull his shirt on, as it seemed any kind of backwards or upwards movement of his arm caused his side pain. Refusing to ask for Bond's help, he carefully slipped the shirt on without moving that particular arm much.

Once dressed, Arthur stepped out into the main room. "I think we should go back. I was very close to getting some information..."

"Coffee?" Bond smiled, gesturing to the hotel coffee machine.

"I thought you didn't know how to make coffee..." Arthur raised a brow. Bond had an affinity with most technological things, but somehow kitchen appliances had always been a bit of a weakness as far as Arthur knew. Not that he could say any different for himself...

"It has instructions on it..." Bond shrugged. "Not written quite as well as Q's, but I managed." He noticed Arthur's hesitation and lifted his own mug, taking a sip from it. "I swear it won't kill you old boy." He smirked.

Arthur rolled his eyes and reluctantly took a cup of coffee, placing it in front of him and slowly sitting on the sofa. "Well, anyway, I was saying I think we should try to get back in..."

"Arthur, we were foiled. They'll be expecting us to come back." Bond shook his head. "It's best to find another way... they're a huge organization it seems, there must be other places."

The blonde man nodded, frowning a bit. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am." Bond stated plainly.

...

"You are here for the repair?" The receptionist gave Bond's identification card a glance. "That was fast… the elevator broke only five minutes ago…"

"Well we like to keep our customers happy." Bond asked in flawless Russian, unperturbed. "It is our honor."

"Of course." The woman murmured, giving the card back and smiling. "You may go in. Please not take long."

"Of course not, my lovely~" Bond chuckled, winking at the woman and slipping into the hallway as she blushed.

"Ugh. Get me an antacid, you're upsetting my stomach..." Arthur grumbled over the microphone, calmly standing on a ledge in the back of the building, somewhere near the fifth floor, where five minutes ago he'd dropped a small charge through the vent leading into the elevator shaft, shorting it out to allow for a cover. The top half of the building was flat concrete and fluted outward at the roof, allowing no means of rappelling to the top. Now he needed to get inside the building to make it the rest of the way.

"Come now, Arthur." Bond chuckled into the microphone. "You don't even understand Russian."

"I can still tell when you're being a dog." Arthur rolled his eyes, kicking his foot at a pigeon as it landed near him on the ledge. "Good grief… even in Russia… pests…"

"Arthur if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous~"

"Just shut up and hurry!" Arthur snapped. "You're so full of yourself! This is why we never get a bloody thing done!" He growled and kicked the pigeon again as it landed on his foot. "Damn it!"

"Arthur, calm down, really.. remember your blood pressure."

"Remember we're on a mission and get the damned lead out!" He snarled, glaring as the pigeon defiantly landed on top of his head and taking a swipe at it, sending a couple of feathers flying as the bird took off. "Hurry up before the bloody pigeons take over! They think I'm a statue!"

"Perhaps they think you're a gargoyle because you're always scowling." Bond chuckled softly as he imagined Arthur's angry face, calmly making his way through the halls, nodding and greeting people he passed. He ignored a curse from Arthur as he made his way to the elevator. He propped the doors open and stepped inside, taking out a roll of caution tape and criss-crossing it over the elevator doorway. He smiled and nodded as a couple of men in suits walked by, joking to them about how you can never get a good elevator these days. He heard Arthur snort derisively at the insinuation of the jest. "Oh lighten up Arthur… anyway you're clear." He chuckled, setting up a small ladder and popping open the trap-door in the top of the elevator as he pretended to fix the problem. He only needed to make sure Arthur could utilize the elevator shaft without a real maintenance man coming and fixing it before he could get out.

Arthur sighed with relief, turning and nervously climbing into the vent. It was only about six feet to the elevator shaft from the perimeter wall of the building, but it was only about a foot square and a tight squeeze, one Bond couldn't have managed with his more athletic physique… something Arthur was disgusted to find himself suddenly thinking about. He held his breath and wriggled through the narrow vent, feeling claustrophobic and panicking as his hips nearly got stuck, but making it to the elevator shaft without issue.

He reached out and grabbed at the elevator cable, grunting as he missed it and nearly fell from the vent, though the narrowness of the vent made it harder to fall out of with his legs still inside it. He tried not to look down the elevator shaft as he snatched at the cable once more, managing to grab it but nearly falling again as he had to practically lunge from the vent. He clung to the cable as he came free from the vent and quickly grabbed the zipline off his belt, latching it onto the cable to secure himself in case he fell. He gripped the handle of the apparatus tightly, putting a bit of weight on it to make sure it would stay put when he climbed… and if he messed up.

"I-I'm inside. Beginning ascent…" He sighed, swallowing nervously and carefully starting to shimmy up the cable, glad his boots were equipped with powerful electromagnets and wondering vaguely why his gloves couldn't be as well.

"Be careful Arthur, I know how you feel about heights." Bond chuckled, grinning to himself.

"Sh-shut up." Arthur snapped, looking straight up above him determinedly as a bead of sweat trickled down his neck. The last thing he needed was to lose focus. He took his time, making his way about five more floors before his arms started to ache. He stopped, panting. He was getting up in his years and this sort of thing wasn't so easy anymore.

"Arthur, you're slowing down." Bond murmured into the mic, monitoring Arthur's vitals on what appeared to be a regular wristwatch from far away. "It's only three more floors to the top, you should be able to make it."

"I'm trying…" Arthur gritted his teeth, trying to keep his breathing even as he forced himself to continue. He ignored the burning in his arms, trying to hold on. His fingers were starting to feel numb and gripping the steel cable was becoming more difficult.

"Arthur, hurry up a bit, it's not far.."

"Will you shut up?!" Arthur snapped into the mic, wincing as he felt a sharp pain in his injured side. He lost his grip and fell back, his feet coming free from the cable. Before he had time to react, he was plummeting through the shaft, unable to stop himself. He grabbed at his zipline desperately, barely managing to lock it as he passed the fifth floor mark. He jerked to a halt about a floor lower, crying out as his belt cut into his side.

"Arthur?!" Bond startled, hearing the yell from where he was in the elevator. He glanced around to see if anyone had heard before looking at his 'watch' again, concerned to see the other agent's heart rate skyrocket. "Arthur? Are you alright?"

"No I'm not alright!" Arthur replied in a strained, angry voice. "Y-you're breaking my concentration, I almost died!" He growled and slowly righted himself, grabbing the cable with shaking hands and looking up. He groaned and started climbing despite his exhaustion.

"Sorry old chap." Bond chuckled lightly, hiding his concern. "Just keep at it, we have a limited time frame here."

"Hrmph. Really…" Arthur rolled his eyes, panting as he started climbing the cable again. Finally he made it to the top floor, grabbing at the ledge under the doors and cursing as his numb fingers slipped time and time again. He shimmied a few feet higher and leaned toward the doors precariously, holding onto the cable with his knees. He pulled a compact prybar, about half a foot long, from his boot and pried the doors open, pushing the gap further with his hands and practically throwing himself through them, landing on the floor and groaning. "Ugh…"

"Doing alright mate?"Bond chuckled again over the comm device.

"No thanks to you…" Arthur grumbled and picked himself up, looking around the hall before walking tentatively away from the elevator. There were no doors other than the elevator, and one other door, both situated at opposite ends of the hall. He made his way to it cautiously, stopping in front of the door and kneeling. He pulled the pin out of his watch, which was really a fiber optic cable. He slid it under the door slowly, watching the image on his watch face, which revealed a dark, empty office. He replaced the cable and pulled out his lockpicking tools, fumbling with the lock on the door and wondering why they didn't use a scanner or a keypad. It seemed almost too easy to get into this room.

Arthur straightened up, putting his tools away after hearing the lock click, and cautiously opened the door. He stepped inside and looked around quickly, hoping there weren't any cameras in the room, though the transmitter in his watch was supposed to disrupt surveillance within twenty feet. He approached a large desk in the office, something heavy and solid like oak, with a nearly black finish. The entire office, in fact, had a dark air about it, with thick maroon velvet curtains and a deep gray matte on the walls.

He rounded the desk, noting how neatly things were stacked and wondering if this was truly the office of a crazed terrorist. The sleek desktop computer glistened even in the near darkness, and he reached out hesitantly to turn the monitor on. The computer itself seemed to be turned off and he reached over to the tower to power it on. After the computer finally booted up, he was met with a typical log-in screen, and pulled out his decoder, a small device about the size of a pager, and plugged it into the USB port. A small table opened on the log in screen and a list of characters buzzed by so fast Arthur couldn't hope to make sense of any of the letters or numbers.

Finally the list stopped, having found the right combination, and the log in screen disappeared, replaced with a desktop. Arthur was both surprised and disturbed to see the desktop was an innocent picture of a still lake surrounded by sakura trees. He ignored it and began sorting through random folders, looking for any clue as to what this madman was up to besides confusing people with his neatness and love of pink things…

Suddenly a folder labeled "Top Secret" caught his eye. He stared for a second. Who the bloody hell names their top secret folder "top secret"? He'd have labeled it something like… "wedding photos" or "payroll". It certainly wasn't very secret… He clicked on the folder, studying the files inside. He noticed a sub-folder and clicked on it.

Arthur blushed brightly at the sudden flood of image icons, which all seemed to be the same very attractive Japanese woman in sexy lingerie. It wasn't until he noticed- not that it was his fault he couldn't look away- that one of the photos was a full nude, that he realized it wasn't a woman at all. Embarrassed, he quickly went back to the main folder and clicked another folder labeled "design".

"Arthur." He barely heard his name spoken in his ear as he gasped, staring at the computer screen.

"Oh my God…" He breathed incredulously as he took in the extensive computer-drafted blueprints displayed in the pictures the folder contained. Several of the blueprints were of missiles, which appeared to have different designs, which worried him as it meant there was more than one of these. The missile was labeled with measurements and a bunch of other things Arthur didn't understand. He stared at the images, wondering how innovative this weaponry was.

"Arthur! Come in, damn it.." Arthur jumped as his name was called again, quickly going back again to the main "top secret" folder and fumbling for his flash drive, cursing himself for not having it plugged in first off.

"Wh-what is it? What's wrong?" He stammered into the mic, plugging in the flash drive.

"It's Braginski, he's here, they're coming upstairs, you have to get out of there."

"Wot?!" Arthur panicked, looking to the door. He wasn't sure how long it would take for them to get to the top floor. "H-hold on, I just have to get this file…"

"Arthur, hurry, there's not much-" Bond suddenly cut off.

"…James?" Arthur felt alarm settling in as he hurried to move the to the flash drive, yanking it out and trying to close the window and shut the computer down. He dropped the flash drive in his haste and scrambled to grab it, freezing in place when Bond's voice returned.

"Get out of there! They saw, I'm buying you some time!" There was a loud scuffling sound and Arthur's eyes widened as he darted for the office door, his heart pounding as he wondered what was happening down stairs. He skidded into the hall and started running for the elevator, halting when the elevator lit up with a small 'ding'.

Arthur turned and ran back into the office as the doors opened, knowing if they were in the elevator, Bond had been apprehended. He flew to the window and tore the heavy curtains back, quickly forcing open the window. A rush of adrenaline froze his blood as he looked down at the ground far below. His vision blurred and he fumbled to latch his grapple line onto the ledge of the window. Without hesitation he launched himself from the window, feeling time coming to a near stop as the doors burst open behind him and he hovered in the open air, before suddenly feeling the tug of gravity as he plummeted.

He thought he may have heard voices, but soon it was only the rush of air as he fell straight toward the ground, helpless against the elements and pure physics as the paved street below came up at him. Even breathing was no option right now, only heart-gripping fear, until suddenly he was brought to an abrupt halt about five feet from the ground, panting raggedly and praising God and his superiors for his zipline's height-perception technology.

With a quick swipe of his hand, Arthur released his safety harness, dropping the rest of the way to the ground. He gasped in pain and stood up, staggering away from the building and dropping to the ground, rolling under a truck just as the engine started. He grabbed on as the truck pulled away, struggling to hold himself up off the road. He winced and noticed his arm was bleeding, hissing as the pain started to set in and the adrenaline ebbed away. Someone must have shot him as he was jumping through the window or something and he simply hadn't felt it in his panic.

The truck stopped about a block away and Arthur slowly rolled out from under it, looking around and making his way to the alleyway. The car he and Bond had parked there was still sitting there, untouched, and he grunted as he got in. He sat there for a while, panting and willing his heart to stop racing. He felt blood running down his arm and ignored it, still dazed from the run.

Finally he moved again, groaning as he started the car. He sighed and dropped his head against the steering wheel, cursing himself. If he'd been faster, if he'd been paying attention, Bond wouldn't have been captured. He'd have to go to the embassy now and ask for help. He sighed again and slowly drove out of the alleyway, wondering how he would explain to his organization that he'd lost their best agent…

…

"He is a tough one." Ivan giggled wickedly, shaking his hand out after punching Bond again. The agent was tied to a chair, his expression neutral despite being hit repeatedly. "Just tell me what organization you are work for." He demanded in a calm yet chilling tone. Bond cleared his throat and spat blood at Ivan's feet, giving him nothing but a small smirk. It earned him another hard punch, and this time a resounding crack filled the room and he grunted in pain.

"Oops." Ivan giggled again. "I guess you can not talk now. That is alright. You will have plenty of time. Maybe it heal wrong and be very painful." He said in a taunting voice, leaning on the chair to stare cruelly into Bond's eyes. "And just like the others, no one will save you…"


	9. Doctor, Doctor

**AN: this is kind of an intermission, I wanted to post something and I thought this sufficed as a nice little chapter with not a lot of drama but some good character interaction, and I think you'll enjoy it too =)**

Arthur slowly opened his eyes, vaguely aware of the pain in his arm. He blinked and looked around, finding himself in the car still. He'd pulled off the road and hidden under an overpass, unable to make it back to the hotel. He sat up a bit and groaned, a small whimper escaping him as pain shot through his arm again. He carefully started to take off his equipment, hissing through his teeth, and inspected his upper arm. "Damn." He gritted his teeth, surprised to see that he'd really been shot and not just grazed. He wondered if the bullet was still inside and felt some worry set in. He couldn't very well go to a hospital, not when there might be people looking for him.

Arthur winced and opened the car door, slowly ducking outside and looking around. A cold wind blew, accompanied by a few drops of light rain, and he shivered.

With a sigh, he looked down at his feet. He'd never lost a partner before. And despite his training, he was unsure what to do. James Bond was more than just a partner to Arthur. Though he'd never admit it. He couldn't leave him to be killed, he had to do something.

…

After managing to get back to the hotel, Arthur quickly packed his and Bond's things, trying to hurry as much as his injured arm would allow him. An attempt to clean up the blood on his arm with one of the hotel's white towels lead him to packing that too, not wanting to leave any DNA anywhere he went. Though, the fact that he wasn't bleeding much only pressed the possibility of a bullet and an infection.

Arthur crammed his and Bond's things into the car, trying not to seem suspicious and hiding his arm. A few people stared but seemed disinterested in his behavior and ignored him, luckily. He got in the car and drove off, a bit frantic as the pain in his arm was starting to emanate into his neck, and tried to tell himself it was just his paranoia.

After about half an hour, Arthur finally pulled to a stop outside of the embassy gates, pale and a bit faint. He struggled to retrieve some identification so the guards would open the gate, revving through them as soon as they opened and pulling up outside the large building. Someone must have called ahead from the gates because as he stumbled from the vehicle, three orderlies in white quickly grabbed him, half-dragging him inside. He felt them lying him down and was vaguely aware of being rolled down the hall, closing his eyes as the pain and tiredness started to get the better of him.

…

"Nnh…" The bright lights sent pain through Arthur's head as he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly. He was obviously in a very clean looking hospital room at the embassy, and the realization relieved him immensely. Still when he heard the door click open he instinctively tried to sit up to defend himself, wincing as the action only caused him pain.

"Now don't do zat." Arthur looked up at a low chuckle, examining the doctor that walked in. He was kind of tall, with soft blonde locks that unfurled almost to his shoulders, and had a playful smirk on his slightly rugged face. Arthur was surprised to find comfort in his warm blue eyes as the man approached and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Just relax, you 'ave to let yourself 'eal." The doctor chuckled again. "I am Doctor Francis Bonnefoy," he glanced at his clipboard. "And you are Arzur Kirkland. It is a pleasure to meet you~" He gave Arthur a wink that made the agent blush faintly.

"Y-yes… a pleasure.." Arthur nodded, trying to sit up again. "But.. but I can't stay here, I… I've got a job to do-ah!"

"Non, lie down, Arzur." Doctor Bonnefoy pushed Arthur back down, shaking his head though he still smiled. "You 'ave to at least get your color back. I can releaze you at ze end of ze day if you are doing well."

"But…" Arthur shook his head, protesting. "My partner needs me, you don't understand, he's in trouble…"

"Partner?" Doctor Bonnefoy smiled, showing flawless teeth. "Is 'e as cute as you are~?"

Arthur blushed, surprised at the question. "I-I…" He glanced away, flustered. It was like Bond all over again. Ruggedly handsome, getting him all worked up… How did Arthur attract these types all the time?

"In any case, you 'ave to stay, at least until you 'ave replenished some blood…" The doctor nodded, standing up again. "I promise I won't keep you 'eld captive~" He chuckled, moving to the door.

"Wait! Please.. you don't understand, I can't waste a whole day, he'll be killed!" Arthur tried to sit up again, tugging at the few intravenous tubes attached to his arms and grunting. Doctor Bonnefoy stopped, frowning a bit, and walked back over with a light sigh.

"Are you really willing to risk ze 'ealth complications?" He asked softly, sitting on Arthur's bed again.

"For James… I'd risk my life, Doctor…" Arthur admitted in a subdued voice, breaking eye contact as he felt a bit of guilt for even letting this happen.

"S'il vous plaît… call me Francis."

…

Arthur looked around warily as Francis lead him to the parking lot where they'd taken his car, trying to remain casual as he spotted the vehicle and went to unlock it.

"You look so paranoid. You call yourself a spy?" Francis chuckled, teasing him.

"…oh bugger off." Arthur rolled his eyes. Doctor Love was the one making a big deal that he was 'escaping' from the hospital. "You don't have to follow me…"

"But you are my patient, I 'ave a responsibility to keep you safe." Francis insisted still in a teasing tone.

"Fine. Just don't get in my way.. this is serious business, a lot more dangerous than giving people shots and tests and whatnot…" Arthur opened the door and moved to get in the car, pausing as a bout of lightheadedness suddenly overtook him. "I er… I'm not sure if I can drive."

"I told you you were not ready to leave." Francis shook his head, gently moving Arthur away from the door. "Get in ze ozzer seat, I will drive you…"

Arthur looked doubtful but obediently went to the other side of the car, getting into the passenger's seat. He watched Francis get in and waited for a moment as the doctor looked around the car.

"What are all zese buttons for?" Francis shook his head, perplexed.

"Nevermind them.. Here, let me start it for you." Arthur reached over and touched his fingertip to a small pad where the ignition key slot should have been, causing the pad to blink as the vehicle suddenly started up with an almost stealthy humming sound.

"Zis is so 'igh-tech, I like it." Francis chuckled, marveling at the display. "Is she 'ard to 'andle~?" He didn't wait for an answer, stepping on the gas and turning the wheel as he peeled right out of the parking space in an almost fluid move. Arthur's eyes widened and he gripped the dashboard with good hand.

"Watch it! Where did you learn to drive?!" He snapped.

"In Paris." Francis answered bluntly, just before stomping on the gas again and speeding out of the lot with a loud screech of tires, ramping off a short curb and whipping through the embassy gates so fast the car fishtailed as it turned onto the main road.

"Good Lord! I changed my mind, take me back to the hospital! I don't want to die!" Arthur threw his feet up against the dashboard as if to brace himself from flying out the windshield, covering his eyes with his uninjured arm.

"Please, I know 'ow to drive in Russia, I 'ave been 'ere longer zan you. You 'ave to be aggressive you know…" Francis retorted casually, zig-zagging through several large trucks. "Are you going to tell me which way to go or should I just take you out for lunch~?"

**AN: So yes, a bit short, I decided that in this story, Francis drives like a madman. It might become my new headcannon, I don't know, things happen and hopefully I think of something else to write soon so I can update!**


	10. Amusing

**AN: Here's an action scene I hope you'll enjoy =) please please please leave a review if you can! I really really love reviews and they motivate me.**

**WARNING - this chapter is mainly a violent scene involving lots of painful hitting and junk, so I'm giving you a fair warning.**

"So... zey shot you jumping zrough a window after kidnapping your partner from an elevator shaft... And you don't zink it's a bad idea to just come right back 'ere?" Francis raised an eyebrow, looking a bit disturbed at Arthur's account.

"Don't think..." Arthur sighed exasperatedly. "I _know_ it's a bad idea... but this building is the only lead I've got. They wouldn't have James here, but I can find out where they've taken him..."

"And 'ow do you expect to do zat with one arm?"

"Look, if you just came along for the sole purpose of pestering me, I'll have you know-"

"Arzur, calm down. I will 'elp you if you want." Francis interrupted.

"I... I didn't say I wanted you to help. You're a civilian after all and-"

"I am 'elping, you are my responsibility. May I remind you, I never officially signed your release form~" Francis smiled teasingly, winking at Arthur.

"You... hmph." Arthur sighed again grumpily. It was unnerving how much like James Francis was turning out to be.

Francis glanced over at Arthur, lips twitching in a slight smirk. "You know, you are very cute when you are all grumpy~" He chuckled as the comment predictably caused Arthur to flush slightly and glare at him.

"Oh stop it, that doesn't make any sense. Now if you don't mind, I have to find a way to sneak into this building again." Arthur grumbled and opened the door to get out. Suddenly, Francis reached over and grabbed the door, pulling it shut again, and Arthur looked at him a bit startled and confused.

"What kind of spy are you?" Francis shook his head. "Zey might know what you look like. Zey might know zey shot your arm and zat you survived your fall, non? You can not just walk in zere like nozing 'appened, or risk anyone seeing you and knowing you 'ave returned..."

Arthur stared at Francis for a moment, wondering how he suddenly got to be all mature and cautious after nearly killing them both in a possible fiery car crash mere moments ago. Finally he sighed. "Alright, that makes sense... so what do you suggest I do?"

"Just trust me and let me take care of everything, Arzur~"

...

"He still won't say a word. He's even tougher than the American."

"He will not last long."

"He hasn't even cried yet. Nothing. I can get him to scream and that's it."

"You will keep trying. He will talk."

"Look, threatening me won't do shit, I'll let you know that right-"

BANG.

"Nyet. I will let _you_ know right now... next thing I smash is your face, so do not talk back."

"Y-yeah.."

"You go back in there, and you keep trying, or maybe I decide to use your own methods on you... Now hurry, I have things to attend to..."

"You got it, boss, no problem, leave it to me."

The voices trailed off and the door finally opened, filtering light over Bond, though he kept his eyes calmly shut as if asleep. Footsteps approached and suddenly someone grabbed a fistful of his hair. He grunted, eyes opening as he was dragged to his knees with his hands still tied behind his back, and he looked up at his attacker.

"Hey you piece of shit. You ready to talk yet? It's my ass here, you know that?" Red eyes glinted in the semi-darkness as the man growled angrily down at him, the light from outside the room shining through his pale hair, but his face was hard to see. He shut the door and locked it, making the room mostly dark again. "Get the fuck up." He suddenly kicked Bond in the stomach as hard as he could, causing him to cry out in pain and double over. "Get the fuck up!"

Bond paused for a moment, looking up into the man's eyes calmly before standing up, shakily.

"What's wrong with you? You want me to kill you?!" The man punched Bond, knocking him to the ground again. "Who told you to get up? Huh?"

Bond sighed, spitting out blood and turning over to keep watching the man, who started laughing cynically.

"O-ho, man! You are _really_ gonna get it! You wanna fuck with me? You wanna fuck with my job? This is my living you son of a bitch! Now TALK!" He kicked Bond again in the ribs, folding him in half. "Talk! Spit it the fuck out! Who are you protecting huh? They don't give a shit about you!" The man reached down again, this time grabbing him by the throat and digging his fingers in ruthlessly. "If you won't talk I'll just fucking kill you. I'm dead anyway, motherfuck-"

Suddenly Bond moved, tucking in his knees and quickly slipping his arms around his feet so they were in front of him, but he didn't stop moving. Using his momentum to continue into a roll, he grabbed the man's wrist in his hands, pulling him to the ground and twisting his arm into a complex lock against his own chest. He braced one hand against the back of the man's trapped hand, his other hand gripping his wrist tightly.

"Ah! Son of a bitch!" The man growled and turned, swinging his free hand toward Bond's face, but stopped immediately as Bond applied the slightest pressure to his bent wrist. "OW! Shit! Stop! Fuck!" The man looked frantic for a second, trying to pull away and crying out in pain as it only caused him to twist his own arm. "Let go of me!"

Bond ignored the man, bracing his feet against his shoulders. "Give me the key."

"Fuck you!" The man hissed, and Bond pushed against the man's shoulders slowly, stretching his arm painfully. "Agh! Stop! Asshole! I'm not the only one here you know!"

"Give me. The. Key." Bond repeated slower, pushing on the man's wrist again and not stopping until he received a small cracking sound.

"AAH! Holy shit! Okay! Okay!" The man whimpered, turning slightly and scrambling for his keys, handing them to Bond, who promptly kicked him in the head and knocked him out cold.

"Thanks." Bond slowly stood up, searching the man and finding a knife in his boot. He took the knife and managed to cut the ropes around his wrists. He tugged off the unconscious man's boots as his own shoes were taken away, and put them on, slipping the knife into the straps where it had been. He unlocked the door and cracked it slightly, one hand reaching down to the knife as he peeked into the hallway.

One man stood outside with a gun over his shoulder, staring down dumbly at a cell phone in his hand and guffawing at something. Bond opened the door soundlessly and slipped behind the guard, wrapping an arm around his throat before he could scream and knocking the gun from his hands with a clatter. He kept his arm tight against the man's throat as he struggled, waiting for him to go completely limp before dropping him and picking up the gun and slinging the strap over his own shoulder.

Continuing down the hallway, Bond noticed more doors like the one he had been behind, possibly more prisoners. He moved cautiously to one of them, pressing his ear to the door and listening for a moment. He didn't hear anything and looked around the hall again before continuing. Making it to the end of the hall, he stopped at the corner, pulling the knife from his boot and sticking it just a few centimeters past the edge of the wall to get a tiny reflection of the next hall. Seeing nothing, he peered around the corner and found it empty. At the end of the hall was a door that looked like the entrance to a stair well, and quickly made his way down the hall to it. He opened the door and slipped through it, making sure to shut it quietly behind him.

Instead of stairs, Bond found another hall waiting for him, this one lined with many doors close together, as if they were small rooms. He reached for the handle of one of them but stopped, changing his mind and walking down the narrow hall instead. Finally he made it to the end of the hall and realized there was nowhere else to go. He frowned, confused, and turned around, going up to one of the doors and trying the handle, which was locked. He thought about trying the keys he'd taken from the man but figured he may not have even had access to this area himself.

He returned to the first hall he'd come from, slipping out and going back to the other turn. He felt tired already, and a little disoriented, but knew he wouldn't stand a chance if he didn't get out of here, or at least find something helpful that would be of use to him later. Seeing another door, he hurried toward it, grabbing the door and pulling it open. Something flew out of the door suddenly, and he grunted as something struck him in the jaw hard. He reeled back and grabbed the gun at his side, shooting without even looking.

A flurry of black fabric swirled around his head as his attacker vaulted over his head with amazing agility. Bond turned quickly, shooting again, but something collided with his arms, knocking the gun from his hands and to the floor. He quickly ducked down, sweeping his foot under the other person, who casually jumped over the trip attempt and kicked him square in the chest. Bond rolled away from the kick, trying to grab the gun off the ground, but it was kicked away before he could. He pulled back just in time to avoid a snap-kick to the face, reaching for his boot and snatching the knife, lunging forward and stabbing at his opponent.

The figure spun out of his way in another flurry of black, and a kick to the back of his neck almost sent Bond sprawling, but he managed to turn it into a somersault, landing on his feet in a squat and quickly turning around on his ankles to slash the knife as he was tackled and pinned to the ground. With his attacker on top of him, Bond tried to stab them in the back, but the other person easily blocked his arm, grabbing his wrist and twisting it in a sudden motion, causing a loud snap.

Bond cried out as the knife fell from his limp hand, clenching his teeth and panting. In one movement he was flipped onto his stomach with both arms behind his back, still struggling to get the upper hand, but to no avail. More footsteps approached, and someone else grabbed him violently, wasting no time in jamming a tazer into his side and shocking him mercilessly. He groaned, realizing his hands were being tied again as slower footsteps approached, accompanied by quiet chuckling.

"Very good attempt. Very good... unfortunate for you that my men are no thugs, they are highly trained and you can not get past them with mere... brute force." Bond looked up to the voice, groggy, and blinked as he tried to focus on Ivan's face.

"You know, I really thought you had more potential when you took out my top torture artist... but you have disappointed me." Ivan giggled, almost childlike, kneeling down to look at Bond. "Pathetic... I even removed all but one guard from this level. You see how good I treat you? But you fail. And you will always fail. Do you know why?"

Bond stared diligently into Ivan's pale eyes, still a bit unfocused but determined not to let his weakness or tiredness show.

"...do you know why?" Ivan repeated. He seemed to do that a lot. Repeat himself. Maybe it was some kind of need for control over other people? A need to be answered and not ignored? Or perhaps simply an interrogation method. Bond tried to analyze the man in front of him, seemingly unperturbed as the mocking grin on Ivan's face started to fade in his impatience.

"I tire of this." Ivan growled, his voice changing dramatically from the earlier mocking chipper tone. He reached down and grabbed Bond by his hair roughly, pulling him to his feet violently and eliciting a grunt of pain. "You are a fool. A stupid animal. Do you know that? In a few days, this entire planet will belong to me, because you are all animals and I surpass you. And you will live like the animals you are, while I rule over you." Ivan grinned again, throwing Bond roughly into the wall and watching as he slid to the floor.

The agent groaned, looking up again as someone stepped from behind him toward Ivan, obviously the same person who had just incapacitated him. It was the same short woman from before when he and Arthur had first met Ivan, now shrouded in dark clothing that covered everything but her eyes, some kind of ninja attire. She turned to Ivan, pulling down the black face-wrap that hid her nose and mouth, before standing on her tip-toes to kiss the towering man softly on the lips.

Ivan giggled, returning the kiss and glancing at Bond with a teasing grin. "Keep trying to escape, my beloved thinks you are very amusing..." Bond furrowed his brow slightly at the display of intimacy as Ivan giggled again. The short woman pulled her face-wrap back up to muffle an almost silent chuckle of her own which showed through cruelly in her eyes as she looked at Bond.

Bond gritted his teeth, moving to pick himself up, when suddenly he was grabbed from behind by strong arms. He struggled, but there were too many of them. Finally he gave up when he was tazed again, too tired to keep fighting, only able to stare at Ivan as he was dragged away.


End file.
